.. and there she was ..
tonight my friends and i are dancing .. albeit not well, but we're having fun.
in the corner of my eye, i see a girl with short blonde hair, shorter than a bob cut, in a tight red baby tee. she's dancing as if it weren't a floor but on the grassy lawn of a music festival, maybe phish or dave matthews in the background instead of a reggaeton beat .. spinning and arching, grooving and hip-swinging ..
.. and i'm transfixed. i pretend not to be, because a dance floor is nothing if not dissemblance. i turn back to my friends, one grins. i don't acknowledge it, but keep dancing.
it's not until we're waiting for the bus that it hits me. she dances like moira [1] would dance .. and then i remember.
i remember giving moira a long, firm hug.
i wonder if she thought anything amiss. i wonder if she knew that she'd never see me again.
honestly, the story is short. i don't want to prolong it, if only because it's late and i don't want to start thinking about it now.
so: the short version.
i remember meeting moira at a coffeehouse. i told her that her rings were pretty, the celtic knot a good touch. she smiled sweetly, asked me what the string around my wrist was for.
no reason, i tell her. i just like string.
she never believed me.
she'd sneak me mini smoothies on occasion .. extra from when someone ordered a small, while their smoothie/shake cup could only make large-to-medium sizes.
i was running once in summer, caught her at a stop before she took her bus. i pretend to be nonchalant as i put my shirt back on. she gave me her number, written on the back of a alitalia ticket stub. the next evening she told me about a trip to madrid, by way of rome and the detroit northwest hub.
there was a canoe trip with moira. at a random moment she gracefully stepped out of the canoe, submerged into that stream called the huron river, and told me that it was getting hot in the day. my sunstroked mind thought of her as a mermaid of some kind.
i remember being grave, stopping by the coffeehouse, hedging to make sure i was last in line. when it was my turn i didn't order anything. i didn't tell moira that i was going to see that my mentor, who was in bad shape at the time (dying): just the bare facts. i would be gone for a month, and i didn't want to leave without saying hi .. goodbye? one of the two.
she motioned over to the side exit. i didn't tell her, but perhaps she knew something of what i meant. in the sunshine, next to the umbrella-ed tables, she told me that i was sweet to think ahead.
and then she gave me a hug. i hugged back .. a long, firm hug.
ultimately there was no reason why i didn't call her back when i returned. well, maybe there was a reason, maybe good but maybe not.
it was a hard time for all of us, and a month later, my friend and mentor died. i didn't want to explain, tell her how i was grieving a great man. she was the only one who treated me as if i wasn't made of glass .. and i didn't want that to change. on the other hand, i couldn't dissemble, pretend that nothing had happened. that wouldn't have been right to juha.
some good, that did. maybe i should have met her again, burdened her with my bits of grief. stubborn fool that i was ..!
regrets remind us that we are not perfect, will never be. i don't believe anyone who says that they've no regrets: either they're lying or they've never thought enough about their lives.
so i felt suddenly old and foolish, waiting for the bus.
[1] obviously not her real name. i was in ann arbor, not glasgow or county mayo. q-:
in the corner of my eye, i see a girl with short blonde hair, shorter than a bob cut, in a tight red baby tee. she's dancing as if it weren't a floor but on the grassy lawn of a music festival, maybe phish or dave matthews in the background instead of a reggaeton beat .. spinning and arching, grooving and hip-swinging ..
.. and i'm transfixed. i pretend not to be, because a dance floor is nothing if not dissemblance. i turn back to my friends, one grins. i don't acknowledge it, but keep dancing.
it's not until we're waiting for the bus that it hits me. she dances like moira [1] would dance .. and then i remember.
i remember giving moira a long, firm hug.
i wonder if she thought anything amiss. i wonder if she knew that she'd never see me again.
honestly, the story is short. i don't want to prolong it, if only because it's late and i don't want to start thinking about it now.
so: the short version.
i remember meeting moira at a coffeehouse. i told her that her rings were pretty, the celtic knot a good touch. she smiled sweetly, asked me what the string around my wrist was for.
no reason, i tell her. i just like string.
she never believed me.
she'd sneak me mini smoothies on occasion .. extra from when someone ordered a small, while their smoothie/shake cup could only make large-to-medium sizes.
i was running once in summer, caught her at a stop before she took her bus. i pretend to be nonchalant as i put my shirt back on. she gave me her number, written on the back of a alitalia ticket stub. the next evening she told me about a trip to madrid, by way of rome and the detroit northwest hub.
there was a canoe trip with moira. at a random moment she gracefully stepped out of the canoe, submerged into that stream called the huron river, and told me that it was getting hot in the day. my sunstroked mind thought of her as a mermaid of some kind.
i remember being grave, stopping by the coffeehouse, hedging to make sure i was last in line. when it was my turn i didn't order anything. i didn't tell moira that i was going to see that my mentor, who was in bad shape at the time (dying): just the bare facts. i would be gone for a month, and i didn't want to leave without saying hi .. goodbye? one of the two.
she motioned over to the side exit. i didn't tell her, but perhaps she knew something of what i meant. in the sunshine, next to the umbrella-ed tables, she told me that i was sweet to think ahead.
and then she gave me a hug. i hugged back .. a long, firm hug.
ultimately there was no reason why i didn't call her back when i returned. well, maybe there was a reason, maybe good but maybe not.
it was a hard time for all of us, and a month later, my friend and mentor died. i didn't want to explain, tell her how i was grieving a great man. she was the only one who treated me as if i wasn't made of glass .. and i didn't want that to change. on the other hand, i couldn't dissemble, pretend that nothing had happened. that wouldn't have been right to juha.
some good, that did. maybe i should have met her again, burdened her with my bits of grief. stubborn fool that i was ..!
regrets remind us that we are not perfect, will never be. i don't believe anyone who says that they've no regrets: either they're lying or they've never thought enough about their lives.
so i felt suddenly old and foolish, waiting for the bus.
[1] obviously not her real name. i was in ann arbor, not glasgow or county mayo. q-: